


I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Holidays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: A collection of holiday-themed ficlets from tumblr!





	1. A little jailbird told me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will lmao if you could do this one “this is the third year in a row i’ve been in jail on Christmas. thanks for giving me the nice cell this year. ‘preciate it.” AU

“Officer Griffin. We meet again.” Blake flashes her his signature lazy grin as he slips his arms through the cell bars, resting his elbows as casually as if he were at a bar, and not in lockup. Again.

“It’s _Detective_ Griffin now,” she says, and his eyebrows flicker upward.

“Congrats. I guess the promotion doesn’t get you off the holiday shift, huh?”

“I had a feeling you’d surface. Didn’t want to miss it.“ 

She rests her hip against the corner of his cell, ignoring the flutter in her chest when he drifts toward her. Whatever is between them is a magnetic pull like she’s never felt, one she’s powerless to resist. He seems to feel the same way, his eyes roving across her face with interest as he looms near.

She shouldn’t let her guard down like this. Not with someone renowned for his grifting, sweet talking and swindling invaluable pieces from their owners, then ruthlessly fencing them for three times what they’re worth. The only time he leaves any trace is in the weeks leading up to Christmas, when he makes an anonymous and hefty donation to the children’s home that kept him and his sister off the street as kids.

This is the third year in a row Clarke has followed the trail back to him, the third year in a row she’s managed to get him in custody. And she suspects it will be the third year in a row that he’ll manage to escape, though not if she has anything to say about it.

"Giving up your Christmas so we could be together again?” He teases, so close. “I knew you liked me.”

“I like the chase.”

“I bet you do.”

Clarke makes herself roll her eyes, willing her blush away as she moves away from the bars, putting space between them.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Blake. That cockiness is what gets you every damn year.”

“Oh, is that what it is? Here I thought you were just good at your job.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that she doesn’t like. Or likes too much. One of the two.

“I am good at my job. That’s why, unlike you, I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“No, you certainly don’t,” he says, rueful.

“Disappointed?”

He shrugs. “I try not to respect cops too much, but despite my best efforts, you’ve earned it.”

“What’s the score now? Three to two?”

“For the next few hours.” He rubs his wrists where the cuffs chafe against his skin. They might be on a little too tight, but Clarke wasn’t taking any chances.

“Was it worth it?”

He looks surprised at the question. “What, giving away the money? Absolutely.”

“Even if it’s what gets you caught?”

“My answer stands.” His gaze is direct, like he can see straight down to what makes Clarke tick. “Besides,” he adds, his rakish grin reappearing, all traces of sincerity gone. “Getting caught isn’t so bad. I get to spend the holiday warm with good company. I’ve even got the nice cell this year. Could be worse.”

She shakes her head, trying not to smile. “I try not to respect criminals too much, but– risking your freedom for the sake of those kids? You’re not all bad, Blake.”

“Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. In some stories, that makes me the good guy.”

“Who am I, then? The Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“I think you’re not convinced that I’m in the wrong.”

“You steal from people.”

“I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“ _Yet_. Wrong person walks in at the wrong time–”

“I wouldn’t be much of a grifter if I couldn’t talk myself out of it.” His face is serious now. “My morals may not be the same as yours, but I like to think I’m doing some good.”

“And putting away a nice little nest egg for yourself while you’re at it.”

He doesn’t waver.

“I won’t deny I live comfortably. But I do more good with that money than the people I took it from, I’ll tell you that much.”

Clarke swallows, not as sure of how to handle him in the face of his brunt honesty. She does _like_  him, even agrees sometimes that the people he robs deserve it. But she has to do her job, and her job is to uphold the law. So she gives a small smile and dismisses the voice in the back of her mind telling her he might be right.

“You do know we have cameras in here, don’t you? While you’re basically confessing.”

“Yeah, well.” He cracks a smile, taking the edge off his intensity. Clarke breathes easy again. “Call it holiday spirit.”

* * *

He’s still in his cell when the morning shift comes to relieve her, but when she gets back a few hours later the station is in an uproar because he’s slipped through heir fingers yet again.

Clarke huffs and falls into her seat, dislodging a scrap of paper that glitters to the floor. When she bends to pick it up, she sees a familiar block print– one she’s spent years studying on receipts and notes– this time with a message just for her.

_If you ever want to take down the monsters who got your dad killed, I hope you know who to call._

_May we meet again._

_-BB_


	2. Not-so-secret Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” for bellarke! :)

Every year when Secret Santa rolls around, Clarke can’t help but think about how much easier it would be for her to come up with a gift if only she’d pulled Bellamy’s name out of the bowl.

It’s not like she doesn’t _know_ everyone else as well. Everyone in their group is the kind of person who becomes borderline obsessive about whatever they’re into. Casual hobbies aren’t a familiar concept, not when they could be really extra about stuff instead.

But Clarke never finds herself at the store and thinking _Raven would love this_ , or _I have to send a picture of this to Monty_. Half of the stuff she sends Bellamy, she couldn’t even put her finger on exactly what it is that screams his name at her. On some level, her mind is always screaming his name at her (that’s one of the downsides of falling for your best friend, she guesses), but on another level she has to admit that she knows more Bellamy’s hobbies. She knows his sense of humor and his quirky hangups and the way his mind works.

Still. Even for her, this is a lot.

“I didn’t think it was actually going to _happen_ ,” she bemoans to Wells on the phone, still staring in blank horror at the confirmation email.

Two weeks in Rome and Greece, most expenses paid. She still can’t really believe it.

“You knew it was a possibility,” he points out.

“Yeah, but in the same way that calling a radio station might win you Ed Sheeran tickets. All I did was enter a bunch of Instagram giveaways, I didn’t think I was going to _win_  one!”

“I don’t get what the problem is here. Are you disappointed that he’s going to find out it’s you? You know Secret Santa isn’t a thing you can win or lose, right?”

“I’m giving him something worth thousands of dollars, something he’s wanted for basically his whole life, and you’re giving Murphy a pan and a bouquet of wooden spoons.”

“Some of them are slotted,” he says, defensive. “He likes to cook, he hates practical shopping. It’s his ideal Christmas gift. And don’t turn this around on me, you’re the one who is using your Secret Santa present as an excuse to freak out about how you’re in love with your best friend.”

Clarke groans and slumps, letting her forehead hit the desk with a thunk. “He’s going to see right through me.”

“Nah. If he hasn’t noticed just by being in the same room with you, I doubt this is going to tip him off.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better and less obvious.”

“What are second-best friends for?”

* * *

Her nerves jangle beneath her skin like proverbial sleigh bells as everyone takes their turn unwrapping gifts. Clarke gets a cute hand painted mug and a canister of her favorite hard-to-find tea from Lincoln, a thoughtful gift that she definitely isn’t effusive enough over for all her anxiety as she waits for Bellamy’s turn.

She’d thought about not giving him the tickets, but she really didn’t have anything else. Letting him think he was forgotten about would have been bad. Worse, certainly, than confirming what everyone else already seems to know: that she’s head over heels and kind of an idiot.

“You okay?” Bellamy murmurs while everyone else is playing with Jasper’s gift, a boozy version of Battleship that Clarke had helped Raven hunt down.

She gives him a weak smile. “Do I seem not okay?”

“You seem a little tense.”

“Oh. You know. I’m just– not all here.” She knows she’s being evasive, but if she outright lies, Bellamy will absolutely call bullshit on her. 

“Where are you?”

She opens her mouth but is blissfully cut off by Octavia demanding that it’s her turn to open something. Clarke turns her attention back to the proceedings but feels Bellamy’s eyes linger on her for a few beats longer.

Finally, it’s his turn. He’s grinning, joking around as he weighs the envelope carefully in his hands.

“Barnes and Noble gift card, I’m calling it right now,” says Miller, and Bellamy flashes him a grin.

“I’ll take that action. It very well could be a coupon for two dollars off a pack of razors.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Murphy says, smirking as everyone else turns to jeer at him. Clarke’s attention stays on Bellamy, watching with baited breath as his face transforms from amusement to bewilderment, finally settling on a shocked expression that she doesn’t quite know how to read.

“Well?” Miller prompts after a moment. “Was I right?”

“It’s, uh–” He wets his lips and furrows his brow. Clarke sinks further back into the couch cushions. “A trip to Europe.”

Stunned silence overtakes the room.

“It’s _what_  now? _”_ Octavia demands, crossing her arms in disbelief.

Bellamy traces over the quick sketch of the Parthenon that Clarke had added at the bottom of the page for effect, then looks up at her wonderingly. Everyone else’s eyes follow.

“Some travel company gave away ten nights in a hotel and flight vouchers for Christmas,” she says with contrived nonchalance. “Part of some promotion. I entered the contest and won.”

“Holy shit, it’s a real trip?” Raven’s jaw drops. Clarke shoots her a glare. 

“I mean, he’s still going to have to pay the rest of the flight. And probably expenses while he’s there. But– yeah, it’s… yeah.”

“So you gave him a gift that costs you nothing but that he’ll have to shell out his own money to enjoy,” Lincoln teases. Everyone laughs, breaking the mood, and Clarke offers him a grateful smile.

“Yeah, joke’s on Bellamy. I definitely came out ahead in this one.”

Though the rest of them move on pretty quickly, Bellamy is a little too quiet beside her. He’s smiling at the right times, laughing gently, but it’s as if a veil has fallen between him and the party. Like he’s as distant, thinking over the gift, as Clarke was as she waited for him to open it.

Finally, he goes for a refill on his eggnog. Clarke slips away after him, a few of them seeing her get up but nobody commenting. Wells was right. She _is_  obvious.

“I can’t decide if eggnog is good or terrible,” she says, drifting up next to him. He snorts.

“Depends how spiked it is.”

“And how eggy it is.”

“Yeah, gotta have the right balance.” He turns to lean up against the counter, his gaze calculating. “So, Rome.”

“And Athens.”

“Yeah, basically my two favorite places I’ve never been.” His smile is crooked and her heart pounds in her chest. “You want to get coffee sometime this week? Go over the logistics?”

“Everything is in your name. I’m not sure what logistics you’d need help with.”

“Well, we have to figure out a time that works for both of us, for starters. And I know you like to have a game plan, spreadsheets and all that stuff. I assume you’re going to want to have some idea of what we’ll be doing before we get there.”

Clarke pauses. She’d entered a bunch of giveaways, all with only slightly dissimilar details. Somehow she’d missed the fact that–

“You did know it was a trip for two, right?” 

“I didn’t want to assume I’d get the second spot,” she fibs, biting her lip and knocking her hip against his. “You don’t want to take Octavia? Or–”

He ducks his head, clears his throat. “Trust me, there’s, uh– There isn’t anyone I’d rather take with me than you. And according to this–” He pulls the paper from his back pocket, unfolding it carefully. “–the trip is a r _omantic_  Getaway Giveaway.Inviting my baby sister isn’t really appealing to me.”

Hope burns in her chest. “But you don’t mind– I mean, it wouldn’t be weird for me to go with you when it’s supposed to be romantic?”

The look he gives her is half exasperation, half fond, and wholly Bellamy.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to make it through ten whole days sightseeing in historic cities without blurting out how I feel about you, so– yeah. Ideally we’d lean into the romantic side of the trip. But if you don’t feel the same way, better to give you the out now before we get–”

Clarke cuts him off by pressing her lips to his, her anxiety calming as he eagerly responds. He pulls her closer to him, wrapping them up together in ways she always suspected they would fit.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” He laughs, bumping his nose against hers as he speaks.

“Obviously.”

“Just checking.”

He kisses her again, exuberant, and Clarke lets everything else fade away.

* * *

“I’ve made a crucial mistake.”

They’ve just arrived at the extravagant hotel booked as part of the package, and Clarke has to admit that Bellamy was right to tell her how he felt before they got here. There’s only one bed, and it’s a lot less pressure and weirdness when she’s used to sharing one with him as her boyfriend.

“You’re supposed to wait for the end of the trip to break up with me,” he teases. “Worst gold digger ever.”

“This place is so nice,” she grumbles, throwing open the shutters to gaze out at the sprawling city below. Bellamy pauses in getting his bags settled to come over and take in the view with her, his arms coming to encircle her waist.

“And that’s a problem?”

“I’ve set the bar way too high for our relationship. I’m never going to be able to top this next year.”

Bellamy laughs and kisses her hair. She knows he’s just as jet-lagged as she is, but somehow his excitement is making him giddy whereas hers is just making her tired.

“You’re right. I’m going to become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. It’s all going to go to my head.”

“You’ll leave me for a travel agent. I’ll tell myself it’s for the best, because you’ve become a different person.”

“Sounds like a miserable future.”

“The worst,” she agrees, relaxing back into his hold.

The sun is warm on her face, Bellamy’s voice a content rumble at her back when he says, “Can’t wait.”

And Clarke couldn’t agree more.


	3. A Christmas Carol(ing disaster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you please do rival christmas caroling groups au for the Christmas holiday prompts?

“Not again.”

Clarke crosses her arms in defiance, which draws an unfortunate amount of attention to her cleavage, and the light-up Christmas bulb necklace slipping into it. He’s never seen any one person so hot, so festive, and so angry all at once. The part of him that isn’t annoyed is a little bit impressed that she manages to make it all work for her.

“What’s the matter, Blake? You scared of a little friendly competition?”

Bellamy would hardly call the relationship between his scout troop and Clarke’s, ‘friendly’. They’d met because the rec center where both troops meet kept accidentally double-booking them. Setting what Bellamy is sure was a terrible example for their middle schoolers, neither leader was very understanding about the situation. Instead, both stubborn assholes had doubled down, and then the kids caught onto the rivalry, and it had become, well, a Thing.

He’s sure their feud will only be reinvigorated by the fact that both of them have apparently showed up to the same nursing home on the same night for door-to-door caroling, if the literal sheet music Clarke’s troop carries is any indication. Bellamy was just hoping his preteens would be well-versed in standard Christmas fare to get by, but he’s not surprised Clarke took it to the next level. He knows her well enough by now to know she’s just like that.

“You get that you can’t beat us at this, right? There’s no prize you win for being a better caroling group than us.”

“So you admit we’re better.”

“I admit nothing. I’m just saying, the Christmas spirit is about sharing and peace on earth and shit, right?”

Her mouth tugs to one side like she’s trying to stop a smile but can’t.

“Poetic.”

“Shut up.” He pauses, but– he’s on his own with twelve prepubescent humans and no parents picking anyone up for at least two hours. It couldn’t hurt to suggest something that might help him survive. “There are plenty of old people for the both of us, and if some rooms get hit twice, I can’t imagine they’ll mind. And if they do, they don’t have to open the door.”

“I wouldn’t.” She drums her fingers on her arm. “Are you seriously proposing a Christmas truce?”

“Hey, if they could do it in the trenches of World War II…”

“So we’ll be back up in arms tomorrow,” she says, dry. Bellamy can’t help but grin.

“If we can make it through this caroling thing without any bloodshed I’m counting that a victory.”

She snorts. “It’ll be a miracle.”

“Well. ‘Tis the season.”

Of course, it isn’t quite that easy, because life doesn’t work like that. His kids are from the same neighborhoods as Clarke’s kids, go to school together, and they even have some siblings split between them. Needless to say, they _thrive_ on the drama of their warring troops, see it as some sort of game, and aren’t sold on the idea of making peace for one night.

It makes the caroling, in a word, nightmarish. Their troops are basically screaming at the elderly residents, trying to drown the other group out no matter how far down the hall they are. They change the lyrics to be insulting, make faces at each other, even a couple of crude gestures when they think Bellamy isn’t looking. It doesn’t help that his troop doesn’t know the songs all that well in the first place; compounded with the distraction, it devolves into a chaotic jumble of sounds and syllables with everyone coming together a little bit better in the chorus. 

(It makes him feel both a little better and a little worse that Clarke’s troop isn’t doing much better.)

The nursing home residents are mostly polite about it, declining offers for more songs, or trying to ask them about their other troop activities and where they are in school, but his kids aren’t having it.

He catches Clarke’s eye mid-grimace once, and finds her throwing him an understanding expression. Like they might be on the same side for this one.

That would be novel, but not unwelcome.

Bellamy does everything he can to keep his scouts in check, but at one point they draw too close to Clarke’s group and that’s where it really goes downhill.

He’s trying to smooth things over with a curmudgeonly old man who isn’t thrilled about their poor excuse for a performance when the sounds of a scuffle reach him. When he turns, he sees one of his kids wrestling with one of Clarke’s, each trying to shove the other away so that they can be the first to reach a doorbell.

“Hey, cut it out!” He injects as much authority as he can into his voice as he wades through the crowd of onlooking preteens, thankful that the boys haven’t hit their growth spurts too hard yet. “Jared, I’m talking to you. Break it up.”

Unfortunately, he underestimates the power of their momentum. Just as he reaches them, one of them knocks into the other _hard_. Both boys lose their balance, taking Bellamy down with them in the mass of flailing limbs– which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the kick he takes right in the face.

Bellamy has been in enough fights in his life to know that noses bleed a _lot_. Even so, it’s somewhat alarming. And not just for him as he groans and attempts to refrain from swearing more than he absolutely has to. The kids standing in a circle around him all look shocked and disgusted, their exclamations all running together as the two who took him down clamber off of him so he can breathe again.

And then, suddenly, all he can see is a curtain of blonde and ice blue concern.

She curses softly and Bellamy chuckles, which is not the best idea in his state.

“Language,” he says, tipping his head back to try to stop the flow. To his surprise, Clarke slips her hands under his head, tilting it back down and pressing something gently against his face.

“Keep your face tilted forward, you don’t want the blood running down your throat to your stomach. You’ll be sick.” Her fingers press in different spots against his scalp, searching. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

Bellamy considers. “Do you think that would make them feel worse?”

Clarke huffs and smiles, relieved. “If they don’t feel guilty enough to behave themselves from just a bloody nose, we can tell them you’re dying or something. Brain bleed. I went to med school, so I can really sell it.”

“I did theater in high school, so I could really sell a death scene.”

“Perfect. Trauma is always a great disciplinary tool. Do you feel good enough to sit up?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She lets him take over holding the fabric to his face, and as he does he realizes it’s the scarf she’d been wearing earlier. He pulls it away from his face, horrified.

“What the hell are you doing?” She says, pushing it back to his face. He winces at the pressure and throws her a dirty look, which she meets with one of apology.

“This is your scarf.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Clarke.”

“It’s fine.” She rolls her eyes. “My ex gave it to me and it didn’t end well between us, so I’m not really going to miss it. In fact, this is kind of cathartic for me.”

“Glad I could help,” he mutters, looking up at the kids. Jared and the other boy are curled into themselves like they’re afraid they’re in trouble, and the others range from riveted in stillness to chattering with excitement. Nothing this big has happened on their troop outings, ever. “Guess we have to deal with this.”

“We could make a break for it.”

Her eyes gleam with amusement when they catch his. He finds himself smiling back.

“You just say the word and I’m ready.”

They make both troops go door to door with apologies, then all move to hang out in the lobby until their parents come to get them. By the time the last kids are gone, Bellamy is exhausted and, he’s sure, a mess. He’d tried to clean up a little but hadn’t wanted to leave Clarke alone with them for too long.

“I guess we got what was coming to us,” he sighs as they reach Clarke’s car and slow to a stop.

“Speak for yourself,” she teases. “I came out ahead in this one.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” An awkward silence falls between them. He clears his throat. “Have a good holiday, then. I’ll see you sometime after the new year, I guess–”

“I do feel bad,” she interrupts, her cheeks flushed from the cold. And maybe, he thinks, a little bit of courage. “I mean, we both kind of started the feud, but you’re the one who took it in the teeth.”

“I ruined your scarf, so.” He shrugs and smiles. “You can count us even.”

“Yeah, but– you should let me make it up to you.”

“I should?”

“Yeah.” She pauses. “I have a first aid kit at my place. I could clean you up better. Get ice on it. And then… I mean, I have some stuff for hot chocolate if you want?”

The way her voice trails upward at the end makes something buzz under his skin.

“I guess it’s the least you could do.”

Her smile is bright.

“That’s what I’m saying. Think our truce will hold up long enough for all that?”

Bellamy ducks his head. “Yeah. I think it might.”


	4. Well the sweaters outside are frightful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke stealing Bellamy's Christmas sweaters because they're WARM and SOFT

Clarke doesn’t like to think of it as _stealing_ , per se. In her mind, it’s more of a standing offer. That she doesn’t necessarily let Bellamy know she’s taking him up on before she does.

And, okay, it wasn’t so much an offer as a gruffly barked command. 

“Put a sweater on before you freeze to death.”

Clarke had blinked up at him, eyes bleary with sleep as Frida tugged at her leash, just in time to see something big and heinously-patterned being flung at her face. 

“I wouldn’t wear this if you paid me,” she’d grumbled, holding up the ‘80s relic that’s just a little too far from the cusp of being back in style. 

Octavia, still in school and working with the meager budget Bellamy gives her for his own Christmas presents, tends to go to whatever secondhand store she can walk to from campus and buy him terrible sweaters in bulk. Clarke is like ninety percent sure they’re supposed to be a practical joke, but he wears them with pride because his baby sister bought them for him. And because it makes her cringe to be seen in public with him in one. That instinct doesn’t go away just because they’re both adults now.

“It’s six a.m. and pitch black outside,” he’d grumbled right back. “Who are you dressing to impress? Just put the damn thing on before your dog pees on the rug again.”

Maybe it was the logic of his points, maybe it was the timbre of his voice first thing in the morning, low and rough with sleep, or possibly come combination of the two, but Clarke had shrugged the cable-knit monstrosity over her head and shuffled out the door. 

She was horrified to find that no matter how ugly the sweater was, the thick, heavy material was indeed warm. Not to mention how cozy it was to be swathed in so much extra fabric that she was almost swimming in it.

Clarke was so used to Bellamy and his big-brothering, his snarky sense of humor, his effortless charm and much more appealing grumpy old man persona, that she almost forgot sometimes how built he was. Almost. He wasn’t  as tall or bulky as Lincoln and Wells, but the way his clothes hung loose on her frame, particularly in the arms, reminded her of the muscles lurking beneath his dorky facade.

Not to mention the spicy scent of his aftershave that filled her nose when she buried her face into the collar to protect it from the cold. 

Clarke was so far gone for him, it wasn’t even funny.

She’d kept the sweater on when she stumbled back to bed for a few more hours of sleep. Longer than she’d planned, if she’s being honest. She’d overslept and rushed in to the clinic still wearing the garish thing, grateful to have scrubs waiting for her to change into.

And then the next morning she’d seen another one of his sweaters draped over the back of a kitchen chair, and– well, she _was_  glad to have it the day before…

And there’s really no _point_  in picking out an outfit when she’s just going from the house to her car to the back entrance of the clinic…

And just like that, it becomes a habit. If she doesn’t see one of his sweaters sitting out somewhere, she’ll sneak one from his drawer, then sneak it back wherever she found it when she gets off her shift. Not that she think Bellamy would object, but– he might think it’s weird. 

Everyone already thinks they’re more than roommates, more than best friends. They’ve never talked about it, but she can’t imagine he isn’t uncomfortable with the jokes and innuendos from their friends, the easy assumptions of strangers. She knows what her wearing his clothes would look like to an outside observer.

Clarke loves him. How could she not? But he doesn’t think of her that way, so she figures it’s best that this tendency of hers stays her own little secret.

And it does.

Until Bellamy shows up at the front desk one day.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, concern making her mind race. He hadn’t seemed sick, but–

“Bringing you lunch.” He leans on the front desk, off to the side where Jackson can greet the elderly woman with the walker that Bellamy held the door for. 

“You’re bored,” Clarke accuses, and he frowns, annoyed that she figured him out so fast, and she has to grin. “Winter break just started a few days ago. Don’t tell me you’re tired of video games in your boxers already.”

“It just reminds me that I’m not doing all the grading and lesson planning I should be doing to get ahead for next semester,” he groans, putting his head down on his arms. “At least if I’m making you take a break to eat, I’m doing something productive.”

Clarke laughs and pats his curls. “Always glad to be a source of procrastination. If you hang out in the break room for like twenty minutes, I’ll be done with this paperwork and I can take my lunch.”

“Cool.” He straightens, her hand falling away, and gives her a smile. “Just point me in the right direction.”

The lunch he brought her turns out to be mac ‘n cheese and chicken salad sandwiches, all homemade because Bellamy genuinely doesn’t know what to do with free time on his hands.

“None of this is hard,” he points out, after Clarke has gushed what she feels is an appropriate amount: until the tips of his ears are red. “You, too, could learn to do this.”

“But why would I when you reward my incompetence by doing it for me?”

He snorts. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m playing right into your trap.”

Before Clarke can tease him more, Maya comes in with her own lunch. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go for it.” Clarke says, seeing Bellamy straighten out of the corner of her eye like he’s been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t have been. “Bellamy, this is Maya. Maya, Bellamy.”

“Hi,” she gives them a shy smile as she sits. “You must be the boyfriend? I was wondering where Clarke was getting all of those sweaters. I guess now I know.”

Clarke’s face goes up in flames as Bellamy frowns, looks down at himself, then over at Clarke in confusion.

“Uh… not boyfriend,” he says, slow. “Roommate. And what about sweaters?”

“Clarke wore that one on Monday,” Maya says, oblivious as she digs in to her salad. “I remember because I spent so long trying to figure out if the pattern ever repeated or not.”

Bellamy looks down at himself again, and when he looks back up at Clarke he’s wearing the beginnings of his infamous smirk.

“She wore this one Monday, huh?”

Clarke stares back at him, defiant despite the heat on the back of her neck.

“They’re still ugly as hell, but they’re really warm.”

“They?” His smirk grows. “So this isn’t a one-time occurrence?”

“Am I missing something?” Maya asks.

“I believe Clarke’s exact words were ‘I wouldn’t wear this if you paid me’. Oh, how the tables have turned.”

“I may not have mentioned to him that I was borrowing his sweaters,” Clarke tells Maya, glaring at Bellamy. “And this is exactly why.”

“Because you dug your own grave?”

“Because you’re _insufferable_  when you’re like this.”

“When I’m right, you mean?”

“Asshole,” she mutters. He grins and slings his arm around her.

“You love me.”

“Keep telling yourself.”  
  
Maya clears her throat, as if to remind them that she’s still in the room, and when Clarke looks over at her she’s trying to hide her smile.

“Sorry I outed you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarke sighs, shoving Bellamy away from her before she can get too comfortable. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

* * *

In true Bellamy fashion, he doesn’t let her live down the sweater-stealing, standing in her way the next morning until she lets him get a picture, which he promptly sets as his background despite her unsmiling expression and prominent middle finger. 

He doesn’t seem to feel awkward about it, which is enough of a relief that Clarke doesn’t mind the teasing. Particularly when he starts leaving sweaters– the ugliest of the bunch– out for her to wear, neatly folded by her door or hanging on the hook with Frida’s leash. 

Plus, now Clarke can wear them when she’s hanging out with him in the apartment. With fleece-lined leggings and thick socks as they curl up on opposite ends of the couch and watch Netflix together, with an apron over it as he walks her through making Christmas cookies for her coworkers, with sleep-flushed cheeks and pajama pants on lazy Sunday mornings as she sketches him reading the paper.

She’s even wearing one when they exchange presents on Christmas Eve, doing their  roommate celebration early since they’ll be spending the next day with their respective families.

“You first,” he insists, dropping a sizeable, though light, package into her lap.

“I bet it’s a book,” she teases, shaking the present by her ear jokingly. 

“I branched out this year.”

“That’s ominous,” Clarke laughs, tearing the wrapping away. “What did you–”

She doesn’t mean to lock up when she opens the box and finds a lumpy, awful sweater inside, but she can’t help it. The sweater isn’t one of Bellamy’s, she notes as she lifts it out. It’s one she hasn’t seen before, as terrible as all the others, but without all the best parts of borrowing his clothes.

It stings more than she would have expected. This sweater feels like a sign, like he couldn’t figure out a nice way to tell her he didn’t want her borrowing his sweaters. That he didn’t want her acting like their relationship is something it’s not, so he gave her one of her own to get the message across.

“Is it that bad?”

He’s teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of worry in his voice that makes Clarke wonder what her face is doing.

“No,” she says unconvincingly, giving him a weak smile. “It’s so horrific, I’m speechless.”

“Yeah, that’s what O said too. I sent her a picture to get her seal of tacky sweater approval. You should try it on, though. I got one a little smaller than I’d do for myself, but I’m not sure if it’ll fit the way you want it to.”

“God forbid this sweater look unflattering on me.”

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she pulls his sweater off over her head. She still has a tank top on underneath, but she still can’t help but feel like it’s symbolic somehow. Like switching sweaters will somehow put distance between them.

It must show on her face, because he catches her hand when she tries to pass him his sweater back, squeezing her fingers gently.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Clarke.”

“It’s perfect. See?” She slips her hand out of his so she can pull her new sweater on, giving him a fake smile when she emerges. “Now I don’t have to steal yours anymore.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes, shrewd. “Is that what you’re upset about? Clarke, I don’t care if you borrow my stuff, that’s not what I’m trying to–” He huffs. “If anything, I like it _too_  much. I made Miller listen to me complain about it for like an hour.”

“Really?” She bites her lip. “You know, I don’t steal like your sweaters because they’re cozy or whatever. I like them because they’re yours.”

“Mine?”

“Well, it’s not like they have a lot of other redeeming qualities.”

Bellamy smiles and takes her hand again, tugging her forward. His lips are soft, his scent and warmth surrounding her and making her feel more content than any of his sweaters ever have. She kisses him until she gets a crick in her neck, then slings her leg over his lap to settle with her knees on either side of his hips and kisses him some more.

The sudden movement knocks her gift for him to the floor and she makes as distressed a noise as she can muster.

“Your present–”

“I really don’t care.” He slips his hands underneath her sweater to stroke the soft skin at her waist, kissing her jaw and trying to reclaim her attention. “This is all I wanted for Christmas.”

“You’re such a sap.” She accuses, fond, and lets him draw her back in.

Because, yeah, he’s sappy, but he’s not wrong. Not in the least.


	5. Kids say the darndest things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “we took our kids to santa’s workshop and they both wished we would get together” for the bellarke holiday fills!

It’s not like there weren’t warning signs.

For one thing, Bellamy knows how obsessed Isaac has been with weddings lately, ever since O and Lincoln’s in the Fall. To be fair, it was an awesome wedding, it’s just given his nephew a bunch of unrealistic expectations of what weddings are actually like.

From Isaac’s perspective, weddings are a chance to ham it up for a bunch of easy-to-please grown-ups, then spin in circles on the dance floor until it’s time for cake. And when Bellamy looks at it that way, sure. It sounds great for an attention-loving five-year-old.

Unfortunately, Isaac doesn’t just want another wedding in the abstract.

“When are you and Aunt Clarke getting married?” He’d asked Bellamy as O bundled him into his coat, blinking up at his uncle with wide, innocent eyes.

Bellamy promptly chokes.

“Great question,” Lincoln says, bouncing Julia on his hip. He misses having a baby around but O doesn’t want any more kids for a while, so he steals Bellamy’s whenever she’s around. “When are Uncle Bellamy and Aunt Clarke getting married?”

“Don’t hold your breath, bud,” Octavia says, finishing the snaps and offering her hand for a low-five.

“Why not? I can hold it a really long time. I can count to twelve.”

“It’s a thing grown-ups say,” Bellamy tells him. “It just means it’s not going to happen for a long time, if it ever does. Aunt Clarke and I aren’t planning to get married.”

“Never say never,” Lincoln says in a low voice, passing Bellamy’s daughter back to her. She settles into the crook of his arm with her fist in her mouth, luckily not too fussy even though it’ll be nap time soon.

“Don’t encourage him,” Bellamy mutters, turning back to his nephew with a bright smile. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah!”

“Cool, you can show me that breath-holding trick in the car.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Octavia says, walking around with Bellamy to the side with Jules’s car seat while Lincoln buckles their son into his. “We’ll be home around six, maybe six thirty.”

“No problem. You know I love hanging out with your kid. Besides, Madi’s never been to see Santa but she’s too old to think it’s a cool thing to do without the littler kids around. It worked out for all of us.”

“My kid has a point, you know. You and Clarke are the most married non-couple I’ve ever met.”

“We’re just friends, O.”

“You’re not just anything. But whatever you need to tell yourself, big bro. See you tonight.”

Isaac spends most of the car ride making silly faces and noises at Jules, her peals of baby laughter ringing out bright and gleeful. She’s in a great mood by the time they find a parking spot, and an even better one when they make it inside and she catches sight of Clarke.

“Mama” she babbles, squirming in Bellamy’s arms and reaching for her. He knows it isn’t personal; Julia calls everyone that when she wants them to pick her up, including him. It’s not the first time she’s called Clarke that, and he has a feeling it won’t be the last.

But it maybe should have been the second warning sign.

Madi, at twelve, seems to think it’s hilarious, and she grins as Clarke reaches for Julia with an exaggerated smile.

“Hey there, sweetheart. You excited to see Santa?” Julia fists her hand in Clarke’s blonde hair and babbles nonsensically as they set off to get in line.

“Madi! Look at this face I can make,’ demands Isaac, and with the kids all occupied that pretty much leaves Bellamy with Clarke.

“How’d it go this morning?”

“Pretty good.” She gives him a distracted smile as Julia tugs sharply on her hair. Bellamy tuts and gives her his finger instead. If he has to stand a little closer to Clarke than ordinary to do so, then so be it. “We got everything wrapped and under the tree without spoiling our gifts for each other, so I’d call that a success.”

“Aw, you think she didn’t peek? That’s cute.”

“Please,” Clarke sniffs, brushing her fingers over Julia’s downy curls. “She is a twelve-year-old of integrity. She would never.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows exactly what she’s getting.”

“I’m pretty sure– shut up.”

“Good one.”

Clarke sticks her tongue out at him and Julia giggles again, loud enough a few heads turn. Bellamy knows what it looks like, the five of them together. Heteronormativity mixed with his and Clarke’s close friendship leads to a lot of assumptions. Not all of them are unwelcome, but none of them are true, so it makes Bellamy uncomfortable all the same.

“You guys are going over to Gina’s family’s on Sunday, right?”

“Yeah. But Gina’s bringing Raven this year so I’m hoping there won’t be a lot of pointed questions about why she and I aren’t together.”

“Wow,” Clarke snorts. “Is that Raven’s superpower? Can she come with me to my family Christmas?”

“Hey, for the right price she might.”

Bellamy doesn’t blame Gina’s family, exactly, for not understanding his and Gina’s relationship. They have a kid together, live together to raise her, but a few months into being parents, realized they weren’t right for each other in the long run. Last Christmas, the breakup had been fresh, and though mutual, had made for awkward holiday conversation. A year later, though, everyone has sort of come to understand that Gina is happy with her life, happy with Raven, happy co-parenting with Bellamy.

And Bellamy is happy… well, he knows who makes him happy. He just hasn’t figured out how to make that work for him yet.

Julia gets a little fussy by the time they get to the front of the line, burying her face in Bellamy’s shoulder and whining crankily as he tries to offer her soothing noises.

Isaac goes first, all on his own because he insists he’s big enough, and climbs right up into Santa’s lap without any qualms.

“Ho ho ho, what’s your name, young man?”

“Isaac. I’m five, and look at this face I can make!”

Clarke and Madi laugh and Bellamy shakes his head, resting his lips at the crown of his daughter’s head. She’s calmed down a lot but her energy seems to be flagging. He’s hoping she’ll fall asleep on the car ride home.

“That’s wonderful,” says Santa, and Clarke exchanges an amused look with Bellamy over the top of Jules’s head. “What would you like for Christmas, Isaac?”

Looking back, Bellamy should have thought to ask Isaac that himself before they got all the way to Santa, because his nephew straightens and points right at them, announcing for all in hearing range to hear, “I want Uncle Bell and Aunt Clarke to have a wedding!”

Madi cracks up, the helper elves turn to look, and suddenly Bellamy’s face feels as hot as Clarke’s is pink. Everyone around them seems to be endeared, Santa gracefully prodding Isaac into naming a couple of toys he wants, but Bellamy misses most of it from sheer embarrassment.

“I’m going to kill Lincoln,” Clarke says under her breath. Bellamy winces. He was hoping she would think it was funny, but–

“Not Octavia?”

Clarke shoots him a wry smile. “I figured it was going to be a tag-team kind of thing.”

He snorts, relieved that she’s joking about it. Relieved that she isn’t putting distance between them.

“I hear murder really brings people together.”

“Next,” a bored teenager elf says, and Madi nudges her way between them to take Julia.

“You sure about this?” Bellamy asks, frowning. Julia goes without much complaint but she’s wearing a face that tells him she could start crying at any moment.

“I’ll make it quick,” Madi shrugs. “She can’t talk anyway. We’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Madi opts to sit next to Santa rather than on his lap, passing Julia to him who looks increasingly uncertain about this whole ordeal.

“And what are your names?”

“I’m Madi. That’s Julia.”

“Your little sister?”

“Not yet,” Madi says with a smirk. Clarke makes a disgruntled noise. Bellamy kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“We’ve both been pretty good, I think.” Madi tickles Julia’s belly, and her face starts to wrench up. Bellamy knows what that means.

“Well, then what would you like for Christmas?”

Madi smirks again, her inner middle-school menace coming out. “I liked Isaac’s idea. I think Mom and Bellamy should get married.”

Santa gives a great belly laugh and Bellamy resolutely does not look at Clarke, who seems to be giving Madi a very pointed look.

“What do you think about that, little one?” He asks Julia, who finally decides she has had enough.

Her eyes catch on Clarke and she bawls, “Mama,” at the top of her lungs, and– well. That’s sort of an answer in and of itself, he guesses, as he rushes forward to scoop her up and thank Santa for his time.

The drive back to Lincoln and O’s is awkward, beneath the stream of constant chatter Isaac manages. Clarke seems lost in thought, staring out the window and tapping her fingers. Every time he tries to start a conversation, tries to say anything about what happened back there, the words stick in his throat.

She gets the older kids set up with a Rudolph movie while he carries Jules upstairs and puts her down. She cried for most of the way to the car but once buckled in, promptly fell asleep like the good baby she is.

He takes a minute to just sit and watch her sleep, peaceful and perfect. When he lets himself out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, he’s surprised to find Clarke there waiting for him.

She moves a little closer in the dim light, the sounds of the TV wafting gently up the stairs. Bellamy swallows, overcome by her closeness.

“About earlier–” He pauses. “I’ll try to explain it better to Isaac. He said something earlier, and– O and Lincoln were giving me shit, and– I should’ve known he was going to blindside us like that–”

“Bellamy.” She has this soft smile on her lips and he has to swallow again so he won’t keep blabbering and give away more than he wants to. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s not even– kids are embarrassing. We’re parents. It happens.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t know why it comes out as a question, but Clarke seems to understand. She nods and steps closer. Closer than she’s ever been.

“I mean– Madi was kind of being intentionally obnoxious–”

“Takes one to raise one.”

“–But they’re not the first ones to– assume, I guess.”

“Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you apologizing for?”

For wearing his feelings on his sleeve. For being too obviously in love with her.

But the words won’t come, so he does the only thing he can think of to explain: he leans forward, bridging the gap between them, and kisses her soft and swift.

Clarke makes a quiet noise and catches the front of his shirt when he tries to pull away, dragging him back down for a longer, deeper kiss. As deep as he’s willing to go with as many kids as they have in the house.

“You definitely don’t need to apologize for that,” she says when she lets him go.

He smiles, tucks a strand of blonde behind her ear.

“Good, because I’m probably going to do it a lot.”

She smiles and tugs him back in for one last kiss.

“I’m hoping.”

* * *

It’s a few years yet before they do have a wedding, by which time the shine has sort of worn off for Isaac.

But that’s okay.

They weren’t really doing it for his benefit, anyway.


	6. Reindeer Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "my little sibling mistook your dog for a reindeer and thats the story of how your dog ended up eating carrots inside my house au"

“Okay,” he says at last. “I have a lot of questions.”

Miller, who had followed Bellamy into the house, coming upon the scene before them only seconds later, coughs. “Dude, I didn’t know you got a dog.”

“We didn’t.”

“He’s being a reindeer,” O says, like that’s the only information he needs. To be fair, it does help him understand why the dog has on one of Octavia’s sparkly headbands with sticks taped to it. And also why she’s trying to interest the dog in a carrot, when it clearly doesn’t care about the carrot at all.

“Okay, but where did he come from?” Bellamy asks, squatting beside her and reaching out to stroke its fur.

He can’t tell off the top of his head what breed it is, but its long hair is silky and well-maintained, and it shows no signs of distress from being around so many people. This dog definitely belongs to someone who loves it, and– well, he’s hoping his sister found him and didn’t steal him, but knowing Octavia, anything is possible.

“He wanted to come with me,” she says, defiant. Bellamy’s eyes close and he bites back a swear word.

So definitely stolen, then.

“Where was he?”

“He was in that big yard on the corner. I usually stop and say hi when I’m walking home and he always looks so sad when I leave.”

“Where’s his collar?”

“They have an electric fence.” She bites her lip, the first sign that she knows she’s in the wrong here. “Are you going to tell Mom?”

“Only if his owners get mad when we return him.” He looks over his shoulder at Miller. “Sorry, I gotta–”

“Don’t worry about it. Text me when you get this figured out.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He makes Octavia practice a quick apology as they walk the two blocks to the dog’s house. Bellamy keeps waiting for him to make a break for it, but he seems happy to walk next to them, happier still when he sees a blonde girl on the sidewalk and bounds up to her, barking.

She drops to her knees, catching the dog in a hug, and it’s definitely the dog’s owner.

He’s licking all over her face like he hasn’t seen her in years, obscuring Bellamy’s view, which is why he doesn’t realize at first that he knows the girl and it’s Clarke Griffin, his primary competition for valedictorian and also his favorite person to antagonize.

“Princess.”

She pauses, pushing the dog away from her face, and her eyes harden.

“Blake. You stole my dog?”

“All I did was come home and find him in my kitchen.”

“I took him,” O says, not half as abashed as she ought to be. She’s too curious about him and Clarke to be properly repentant, and when he gives her a look she quickly tacks on an insincere, “Sorry.”

“I was really worried about him,” Clarke says, clipping the dog’s collar and leash back on and standing. Octavia does look a little guiltier at that.

“He seemed lonely, and Bellamy has debate club after school on Thursdays so I thought we could both have someone to hang out with.”

Bellamy’s face reddens as Clarke’s calculating gaze catches on him.

“It’s okay,” she says at last. “I’m just glad he’s safe. Thanks for looking out for him, but ask first next time. Okay?”

“I will.” She tugs on Bellamy’s sleeve. “Can I go home now? It’s cold out here.”

“Yeah, go start your homework. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.”

He and Clarke watch her jog the block back to their house in an uncomfortable silence, which she at last breaks with, “Are these supposed to be antlers?”

“Oh. Yeah. Apparently he’s being a reindeer. The Grinch was on the other night, so she probably–”

“Right.” She snorts. “He usually hates being dressed up. My mom tried to make him wear a sweater last winter and he wouldn’t have it. But he doesn’t seem to care about this.” She pokes an antler, testing, and the dog tilts his head, sniffing to see if she’s offering food.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Her name is Octavia.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Mom works a lot, so I usually look after her in the afternoons. I’ll talk to her, I promise. She knows better than that.”

Clarke pauses and he braces himself for– well, it could go either way. Scathing insults and weird understandings are their two modes of interaction. Even though they come from wildly different backgrounds, she’s one of the only people at school who he can tell feels the same pressure he does to perform well. For different reasons, maybe, but there’s a strange kinship there all the same.

“My parents are workaholics,” she says at last. “I was somewhat of a latchkey kid too. I get it.” She grins, bright and sharp. “Besides, this is probably karma for stealing Mount Weather’s mascot last year.”

Bellamy barks a laugh. “That was you? Brave Princess.”

The rival high school’s billy goat wandering Polis High’s halls quickly became legend, though the mastermind had never been identified. Until now.

“Me and Raven, yeah. Our ex is on their basketball team, and– let’s just say he had it coming.”

“I believe it.”

She cocks her head. “So easily? You usually like to tell me how wrong I am.”

“I like to give you a hard time,” he admits. “But I trust your judgment.”

Her lips curl up on one side and some emotion swoops in Bellamy’s chest.

“It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“Something like that.” He stuffs his freezing hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Sorry about the dog, again. I guess I’ll see you around school?”

“We have almost all the same classes, so that’s a safe bet.”

“Right. So– See you round, Princess.”

“Later, asshole.”

He doesn’t really expect anything to change between them, but before first period on Monday she slides into the seat beside his like that’s where she’s always sat.

“So your sister inspired me,” she says, without even as much as a hello. Miller smirks at Bellamy when he walks in but goes and sits next to Monty and Jasper without interrupting. Like a true friend.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“I have to top last year, right? So I’m thinking instead of stealing their goat, we should– in the Christmas spirit– leave them something in its place.”

A smile dawns on his face, slow, as he pieces it together.

“Where the hell are you planning to get a reindeer?”

She grins back, and as much as he loves pushing her buttons, he has to admit that it’s kind of nice to be on the same side.

"It’s a need-to-know basis, Blake. And the only people who need to know are the ones who are going to help me pull it off.” She gives him her patented challenging eyebrow he’s come to know and admire. “So what do you say?”

Bellamy doesn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m in.”


	7. Hot Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "bellamy runs a hot cider stand (+how much clarke likes sweet apple/cinnamon-y kisses)."

“How enterprising.”

At the sound of her voice, Bellamy’s head whips up from looking at his phone. His smile comes swiftly, warming Clarke to her toes.

“You know me, I see an opportunity and I take it.” He nods to the empty folding chair beside him. “Want to sit? Murphy went to ‘take a call’, which I’m pretty sure just means he ditched me for warmer pastures.”

Clarke laughs and comes around the card table to take a seat, smiling into her scarf when Bellamy pockets his phone and shifts closer. 

She feels like she shouldn’t be this giddy to see him. They met because they’re both poli sci majors and they had a bunch of the same classes together, and they bonded because they’re both stubborn fighters who like to be right. Clarke was bummed when they didn’t have any classes together this semester, but it led to them texting– a _lot_  of texting– and, last week, to a first date.

A really good first date, of which Clarke wants many more. Her only issue is that he didn’t kiss her at the end of the night, and also that they haven’t seen each other since because of finals. 

(To be fair, she didn’t kiss him either. But there had been a moment after he’d walked her home, when they’d stood there smiling at each other, swaying toward each other, and she’d been convinced he was about to make the move.

Instead, he’d reeled back with an awkward smile and half a wave, and hurried away with his head down before she could even process what wasn’t happening.)

She hadn’t thought she would get to see him again before they went home for the holidays. Then as she left her last final, crossing the quad feeling unburdened and light, she’d spotted him sitting behind a sign proclaiming _Hot Stuff, $1_  and realized she had one last thing to cross off her to-do list before she left campus.

“You want something to drink? We’ve got hot cider, hot chocolate, hot water and tea bags, coffee… I’d even give you a cup free of charge.”

“I’m pretty sure good business means not giving anything away for free,” she teases. “But I’d take a cup of cider.”

“And that’s why I’m not a business major.”

“Clearly not in marketing either.” She holds the steaming beverage up to her face, the warmth and aroma satisfying enough on their own it hardly matters whether it tastes good. “Your sign raises more questions than it answers.”

“That’s an understatement,” Bellamy snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. “I told Roan not to put Emori in charge of the posters, but I think that only made him want to do it more.”

“This is all for the service fraternity?”

“Yeah. The money all goes to a local family who can’t afford presents for their holiday of choice.”

“I feel like that should have been on the sign somewhere.”

“You and me both.”

“So let’s fix it.” She digs around in her bag until she comes up with a Sharpie, then circles around to crouch in front of the sign.

“Out of context, it kind of looks like you’re selling your body,” she says offhandedly as she works. 

He chokes, sputtering cider down the front of his coat.

“You think a dollar is a fair price for all of this? That’s cold.”

“I thought it was a really good deal.” She flashes him a grin, pleased to find that he’s blushing beneath the freckles. “Don’t worry, I’m making it say hot _drinks_  instead. So no one else gets the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that.” He pauses. “So you think I’m hot, huh.”

“Extremely.” 

With his dark curls and bronze skin, the smirk that melts arguments out of her brain and the smile that lights her up from inside, at times he seems impossibly attractive. And when he turns on any sliver of charm, well. She’s done for. 

“I saw you running without a shirt on a couple of times at the beginning of the year,” she adds, moving back to her chair. “I feel like hot is an understatement.”

“Really?”

She nods and smirks. “I’m looking forward to getting your shirt off a lot more.”

His grin is blinding as he slides closer, presses up against her side. His hand works its way into her hair and when Clarke feels him lean in she meets him halfway. Their lips are chapped, and his glasses fog up, and he tastes like cinnamon and apple, sweet and tart, but it’s absolutely perfect. Every bit the kiss she’s been waiting for.

“You’re making a lot of presumptions, there,” he says when he pulls back, but he’s smiling again, too wide for Clarke to feel scolded.

“Sorry, did you want me to pay you now or–”

“You’re such a dick,” he says, but he’s smiling as he leans in again for more.

She’s tucked against his side, helping him play a game on his phone when Harper and Monroe arrive (with a new, much improved sign) to take the next shift.

“How’s it going so far?” Harper asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Bellamy shrugs and reaches for Clarke’s hand.

“Nothing too eventful,” he says, reaching for Clarke’s hand. “Pretty quiet.”  
  
“And cold,” she adds, lacing their fingers together tight.

“So go get warm,” says Monroe, shooing them away. “We’re good here.”

“Thanks. Happy holidays.”

“You too.”

Clarke lets Bellamy lead her, enjoying the quiet of campus and the feeling of his hand enveloping hers.

“So,” he says, conversational. “Any ideas how we can warm up?”

Clarke grins. “I might have a few.”

“Cool.” His thumb strokes her knuckles. “I’m all ears.”


	8. Vigilante Vandalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i’m tired of people forgetting about Hanukkah. I’M GOING TO TAKE DOWN THAT CHRISTMAS AND MAKE INTO A HANUKKAH TREE WHO’S WITH ME” AU for bellarke?

“If you light yourself on fire I swear I’m just going to let you burn.”

Clarke makes a _pfft_  noise even as she teeters on the icy ledge. From the corner of her eye, she sees Bellamy make a move as if to catch her, and grins triumphantly when she catches both her balance and him in the act.

“You would not,” she crows, her voice ringing off the pavement. Not a lot happens after 1 a.m. in Polis, so right now it’s just her and her secret-favorite coworker and the object of her ire.

Clarke has no real issue with Christmas. She’s not particularly religious, but she likes getting a day off to hang out with her mom, likes that there are still people in the world who believe there should be a day when everyone shows each other how much they mean to one another (no matter how materialistic that demonstration may be).

Clarke has _many_  issues with the Christmas tree in front of the Polis mall. To name a few:

  1. it’s gaudy,
  2. it’s huge,
  3. it went up the week before Thanksgiving, which is a huge pet peeve of hers,
  4. the mall spokesman got all up in arms when the news anchor interviewing him for a fluff piece on the decorations happened to bid him happy holidays rather than a merry Christmas. 



So Clarke hates the tree mostly on principle, and the tree rubs it in by standing perfectly placed so that it’s all she can see above the crowds on her walk to and from the bus stop nearest to her workplace.

Well, she can’t take it any longer.

“You really should put your shoes back on now that you’re over the ledge. The ground is way too cold for just tights,” Bellamy sighs, and she hears the clatter of her heels on the stone lip of the fountain behind her. 

They turn the fountain off whenever the temperatures begin to dip low enough the pipes might freeze, but an empty fountain is a blight. Instead, they’d wrapped fake evergreen around the central structure to make it look like a tree.

And it still will, when she’s done with it. Only… a different kind of tree.

“You really should get the stick out of your butt and come help me with this,” she calls over her shoulder, snickering at the muttered swears she hears in return.

She can’t put her finger on why Bellamy had followed her here from their work-holiday-party-afterparty (the one with way more booze and no bosses around to cramp anyone’s style), but she isn’t complaining. She likes Bellamy. Likes dropping by his desk to bicker with him and steal his pens. Likes rolling her eyes at him during staff meetings, and responding to all of his professional emails with weird memes he only sort of understands.

She’d like it if they saw more of each other too. Outside of work, perhaps over dinner. But she’ll settle for kind of committing vandalism together.

It’s a good starting point, anyway.

“What the hell is a Hanukkah tree?” He grouses, swinging his legs over the fountain and coming closer.

Clarke digs around in the tote bag she’s had stashed in her bottom desk drawer for the better part of three weeks, slowly accumulating supplies, and emerges with a bag full of Hanukkah-themed ornaments, some homemade, some bought online. She also has yards and yards of blue and gold ribbon, blue twinkle lights, and a banner that announces,  _Happy Hanukkah!_

“The world is about to find out.”

“Okay, two things,” he says, untangling the lights as she begins to remove all the Christmas baubles she can reach. “First, you’re vastly overestimating the reach of this tree. It’s not going to reach the entire world.”

“You’re just thinking too small,” she says loftily, wobbling as she stretches for a bulb she can’t quite reach. She might have had more to drink at that afterparty than she thought.

The next thing she knows, his arm is snaking into her vision, his warmth and breadth at her back as he retrieves it for her, and it’s not the cold that’s making her shiver anymore.

“And second?”

“Second, I’d bet a lot of money you aren’t the first one to invent the Hanukkah tree. I’m sure if I googled right now I could find a bunch of people who have done it before.”

“Oh, you definitely could. That’s what I used to get the ideas.” She draws herself upright, facing him square-on. She hadn’t realized how close they were standing, or how her heels put her at the perfect height to lean in and kiss him. He looks fond and exasperated, indulging her whims but unable to resist the challenge in her eyes when she says, “Now, are you going to lecture me all night or are you going to help me?”

He holds her gaze another beat or two, then shakes his head.

“The faster we get this over with, the faster we can get out of here.”

Clarke beams. “That’s the spirit.”

By the time the last Star of David is hung, the last LED menorah lit, the last bow tied, the tree is looking both festive and inclusive. They could only reach the bottom half of the tree, but it’s enough by far to make a statement.

Bellamy had climbed out of the fountain to get a big picture view of where the decorations looked sparse and where they looked crowded, the two of them sniping good-naturedly at each other as he gave her direction and she acted like she was going to ignore it. 

“Looks good,” he says at last, his hands in his pockets, his cheeks rosy from the nip of the air or the thrill of minor vigilantism. 

“Yeah?” Clarke steps back, trying to get a better view herself. She doesn’t realize she has backed too far until she hits the rim of the fountain and nearly topples over it. The only thing that stops her fall are Bellamy’s hands on her waist, firm and gentle as he sets her to rights.

“Careful,” he rasps, voice low in her ear.

Clarke turns, places her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as she climbs out of the fountain altogether. She lands closer than she expected. His hands flex on her waist, then pull her almost imperceptibly closer.

“You good?”

She nods slowly. Neither of them loosen their hold.

Bellamy is just beginning to lean in when blue lights flicker in the distance. And not the ones they put on the tree.

“Mall cops,” she breathes, stepping out of her shoes again and reaching for his hand. “Run!”

“Hang on.” He catches her hand, squinting into the light. “I’ve got this.”

As it turns out, part of the reason he came along on her scheme is because he knew his friend Miller would be the security officer on duty. 

“You guys did all this?” He sounds impressed as he surveys the tree. 

“We can neither confirm nor deny,” says Clarke, prim. Miller snorts.

“Right. You guys just found the tree this way.”

“And you saw nothing,” Bellamy says, earning an eye roll.

“Obviously not.” He sees Clarke shiver and waves a hand. “If your work here is done, you should get out of here.”

“Fine by me.” Bellamy looks to Clarke, a question in his eyes. “You ready?”

“Ready.”

As soon as they’re in his car, Clarke leans across the console and plants a kiss on his lips, landing only slightly off-center. His skin is cold, his mouth slack with surprise, but then he catches up, tilts her head for a better angle, sweeps his tongue past her lips. Things warm up pretty quickly after that.

“I thought I missed the moment earlier,” he mumbles against her. Clarke smiles.

“You can blame that one on Miller, I think. But don’t hold it against him too much. We kind of owe him.”

Bellamy scoffs. “Kind of? If I hadn’t been here, you would have gone to mall jail. Or possibly even jail-jail.”

“How do you know it wasn’t in my plan for you to handle that for me?”

He rolls his eyes, pressing his lips to her jaw. “You’re a good planner, but you’re not _that_ good.”

“Or am I?”

Her teasing smile brings him back to her lips, and then again when he can still taste the remnants of it lingering.

“I guess I don’t really know. Looking forward to finding out.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, breathless as she draws him in again. “I think we have a lot to look forward to.”


	9. Yuletide Feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i work at the wrapping counter in the mall and you work as an elf at the santa photo place and our departments hate each other."

“ _Blake_!”

“Princess.” Bellamy smirks, leaning on the candy cane fence and wincing when his outfit jingles. "To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your line is out of control,” she says, crossing her arms so hard the reindeer antlers perched atop her head wobble violently. “Nobody can even see us back there.”

“My line is mostly parents with multiple kids under ten. We’re doing well to have any semblance of a line at all.”

“Isn’t your entire job crowd control in a dumb outfit? You could at least pretend to try to wrap the line behind the food court instead of right in front of our station.”

“I wouldn’t throw stones about dumb outfits there, Prancer. At least I get paid to wear mine.”

“Looking festive brings in more customers,” she grumbles, straightening the antlers as they threaten to slip to one side. “And we need all the help we can get, since _no one_ can see us behind this mob.”

“Hey, don’t blame us because we’re more popular than you are.”

“We get paid on _commission_ ,” she seethes. “Or, in this case, we don’t get paid. Because we have no customers. Because your line is in the way.”

“Bah humbug.”

Clarke flushes a deep red. “You are such a d–”

“Better watch out. Words like that will get you on the naughty list,” He says, grinning when even her insults can’t pack the punch she wants with so many little ears around.

“I hate you.”

“Trust me,” he calls after her as she storms back to the gift wrapping station, “the feeling’s mutual.”

* * *

“What. The. F–”

“Fudge?” Clarke supplies, smug at his elbow.

“How,” is all Bellamy can say as he stares at the North Pole set before him, each individual piece wrapped perfectly and tied with bows.

“Dedication.”

“This must have taken you all night.”

“Worth it.” Her grin is sharp and bright  “Payback is a grinch. You better get unwrapping. Kids’ll be here soon.”

“I hate you.”

“And yet you’re begrudgingly impressed.”

“Just makes me hate you more.”

She smirks, and he tries not to notice the shape of her lips or the glint in her eye as she steps close and pats his shoulder patronizingly. “Keep telling yourself.”

* * *

“I was here first,” Clarke fumes, her head hitting the door to the break room as she tips it back to give Bellamy better access. He noses aside the collar of her sweater, abrading her skin with his teeth enough he’s sure to leave a mark.

“Really, Princess?” He mumbles against her neck, hissing when she tangles her fingers too tightly in his hair, letting her drag his mouth back up to hers in a fierce kiss. “We’re going that juvenile now?”

“I don’t want you getting cocky.” 

He’s about to make a joke but she cuts him off with a kiss of bruising force. 

“Your head gets any bigger and that elf’s hat won’t fit.”

“I managed to successfully get a hookup while wearing velvet lederhosen,” he reminds her, smirking when she bites his lip reproachfully, then works her way along his jaw. “I think I’ve earned the right to be a little smug.”

“Stop talking,” she grouses, the scrape of her teeth making him shiver. “I only have ten more minutes.”

Bellamy grins and lets her turn them around so he’s the one pinned. 

“No marks where kids can see.”

Her returning grin is _definitely_ naughty-list material.

“I can work with that.”

* * *

“So you know Christmas is tomorrow, right?”

“Say what?” Clarke gasps, passing him a bag of boxes to help her carry to her car. “I wondered why the mall was so crazy today.”

“Cute,” he deadpans, restraining his smile when she grins. 

(He does find her cute and it’s terribly inconvenient.)

“What’s your point?” She asks, shoving things into her backseat at random. 

He crowds her against the car when she’s done, looming close enough to steal a kiss. They’ve been hooking up regularly over the past few weeks, regularly enough for him to know he doesn’t want it to end alongside their seasonal jobs.

“My point is, I don’t know when I’m going to see you next.” He pauses. “And I’d like to. See you again.”

“That was almost smooth,” she teases, delight in her voice as she loops her arms around his neck. “Are you asking me to go steady?”

“I’m asking you out, if you can bear to be seen with me.”

She hums and kisses him. “I think I can manage it.”

“You like me,” he gloats, a thrill sparking through him when she rolls her eyes, fond.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she grumbles. “But I guess you’re not all bad.”

“Thanks,” he snorts, kisses her one last time before letting her go. “I like you too.”


	10. Deck the Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas”

“I hate this.”

“You? Hate bed rest? Wow, I’m shocked.”

“Everyone is treating me like I’m weak. I’m not weak, just– very pregnant.”

“You’re not weak,” he agrees. “And nobody who has ever met you would think so.”

“This is all your fault,” Clarke grumbles, shifting to get comfortable. The hospital bed doesn’t look all that great to Bellamy either, except that his nine-months-pregnant wife had some worrisome test results and needs overnight monitoring for the next couple of days until either the baby comes or they have to induce labor. 

“Believe me, if I had any power over this, you wouldn’t need to be here,” he says, serious. Her grumpy expression softens a little at his worry and she reaches for his hand.

“I’m going to be fine,” she says, squeezing his hand. “The baby’s going to be fine. This is just a precaution.”

“I know,” he sighs, but squeezes back tight. He’s plenty good at worrying something is going to go wrong with the baby when they’re at home with a clean bill of health. Giving him legitimate reason to worry is incredibly stressful, for him and for Clarke.

But it’s kind of exciting, too, knowing that in the next couple of days he’ll get to meet their kid. That helps.

“If the baby comes tomorrow, I win our bet,” he reminds Clarke, lightening the conversation again. 

“I will keep this baby in me out of sheer willpower before I subject her to that.”

“What bet?” Abby asks, coming in with two cups of coffee and passing one to Bellamy. 

"I told Clarke I thought the baby would be born on Christmas and she bet me that it wouldn’t.”

Abby looks to her daughter, who shrugs.

"Statistically, the odds were on my side. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“What was the bet?”

“If she comes anytime between 12:00 a.m. And 11:59 p.m. on Christmas Day, Bellamy gets to give her a Christmas-themed name.”

“I’ve narrowed it down to Holly, Noelle, or Ivy.”

“Our daughter is going to be a character out of a Hallmark movie,” Clarke grumbles as Abby laughs.

“Holly Griffin-Blake. I think that’s pretty,” she teases her daughter, who scowls harder.

“Just be glad you aren’t getting a grandson. Rudolph was on the table there for a while.”

“Rudy for short.”

Abby snorts. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding, so I’m going to assume you are  for my sanity “

Bellamy grins at his wife, whose lips are curling at the edges  despite her best efforts.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mom.”

* * *

A little after four, Bellamy leaves to pick Madi up from her friend Charlotte’s house. She isn’t a fan of hospitals after spending so much time in them when her biological mom got sick, so they’d made other arrangements for her as much as they could. But it’s Christmas Eve, and Charlotte’s family has their own plans, so here they are.

“How’s Mom?” Madi asks the minute she’s in the car.

“Annoyed that she has to let people do stuff for her,” he says, shooting her a reassuring smile. “The nurse came in a couple of hours ago and checked in on her and she said we shouldn’t be worried.”

“Cool, so neither of you are following directions well.”

“We’re figuring it out.” He keeps his eyes on the road, deliberate. “You want to come check it out? You don’t have to stay, but it might make you feel better to see how Mom is doing for yourself.”

Madi taps her foot against the door, considering.

“I’ll try it,” she decides at last.

“Yeah? I’m glad. I bet Mom and Grandma will be really excited to see you.”

“I bet Mom will be glad to have someone else around for you and Grandma to fuss over.”

“Yeah, that too,” he grins.

As predicted, having Madi around is a nice distraction, some of the underlying tension in the room abating with her presence. She isn’t completely comfortable, but appears relieved that Clarke seems to be feeling like herself.

Even so, she only lasts a couple of hours before she asks Bellamy if he can call Raven and Wells to come pick her up.

“You know what would help?” Madi asks as they stand out front, waiting for her ride. “If it didn’t look so much like a hospital room.”

“How do you mean?”

"It’s just kind of depressing.” She shrugs, kicking the curb. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Bellamy says slowly. “It does kind of seem like a waste to have all those decorations up at home when we can’t even enjoy them on Christmas. Maybe Raven and Wells would take you back to the house. You could pick some up and bring them back.”

“You think they’d let us?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask.” He shrugs. “Besides, I think it would be a good present for Mom.”

“She’s a really heavy sleeper. I bet we could put them up as a surprise for when she wakes up!”

Bellamy smiles. The baby has been making Clarke more tired than usual. Even on bed rest, he bets she’ll be down for the count within a few hours. Later than Madi’s normal bedtime, but it _is_ a special occasion.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I bet we could.”

It’s easy to get Raven and Wells on board with the plan, and though it takes Clarke longer than usual to fall asleep it’s easy enough for them to sneak Madi and two tote bags full of decorations back in without waking her.

Abby helps Madi string lights and garland around the window and door as Bellamy arranges presents and paper snowflakes on the shelves in the corner. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make the room look a little more festive. Enough he thinks they can have a nice family Christmas morning together.

“You think she’ll like it?” Madi asks, leaning against him and surveying their work. He wraps his arm around her, kisses her hair.

“I think she’ll love it. Do we need more tinsel anywhere? More snowflakes?”

“I think any more and it would be tacky,” Madi says, thoughtful.

“We don’t want that.” Abby catches his eye and he nods, squeezing Madi once more before letting her go. “Grandma’s going to take you home so you guys can sleep in beds, but when Mom wakes up I’ll be sure to tell her it was your master plan.”

“You won’t take credit?”

“Only for reaching the stuff up high. I promise.”

And it’s a promise he fully intends to keep, except that Clarke is the one who wakes him in the middle of the night, with a sharp poke to the arm and a hiss of, “ _Bellamy_.”

“What?” He bolts upright, panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m having contractions.”

“Really?” He sits up straighter, swipes a hand over his face. “Okay. Okay. What do we do?”

“Nothing yet. They’re still pretty far apart.” She reaches for him. “I just didn’t think you’d want to miss any of it.”

“Definitely not.” He lets her tug him over to the bed, one hand going to her baby bump and the other going to her hair, combing his fingers through it. “So this is happening.”

“It’s happening,” she confirms, burrowing her face into his shirt. “Last chance to run.”

He snorts softly and pinches her arm. “Not a chance.”

They sit there like that for a little while, and then Clarke says, “Fuck.”

“Contraction?”

“No, you’re winning our bet.”

He laughs. “That’s right, I forgot. How do you feel about Kringle as a name? Unique. Thematic. It could be cute, right?”

“Uh-huh. Quick question: do you want our daughter to hate you?”

“I think she’d have a good sense of humor about it.”

“I’m not taking any of the blame. She was the one who couldn’t wait twelve more hours. You were the one who picked the name. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You agreed to the terms of the bet.”

“ _Nothing. To. Do. With. It._ ” She pauses. “Did you decorate in here?”

“Your mom and Madi helped. I think it makes her feel better to picture you in this environment.”

“Yeah, it’s– fuck.”

“Contraction that time?”

“Yeah.” She lets out a breath. “It’s sweet. You guys did a good job.”

“Madi gets the credit.”

Clarke leans up and kisses him. “I’m giving you a lot of credit too. You’re a good dad and I love you.”

“Labor makes you sappy.”

“It’s not the labor, it’s Christmas,” she grumbles, like being sappy is something to be embarrassed of. Bellamy grins and kisses her again, light and fleeting.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. This stays between you, me, and little Clarice.”

Clarke pauses. “The girl reindeer from the Rudolph claymation movie?”

“Yep.”

"You’re the worst.”

“You just said you love me.”

“I never said I had good taste.”

* * *

Their daughter comes into the world red-faced and protesting loudly, and Bellamy immediately falls in love with her.

“I thought babies were supposed to be cute,” Madi says, wrinkling her nose. “She looks like an alien.”

“She’ll be a lot cuter in a couple of days,” Bellamy assures her, helping her adjust her hold so that the baby’s head is more supported. “Although I think she’s pretty perfect as she is.”

“Come on,” Madi rolls her eyes, looking to Clarke who is watching them fondly. “Tell him I’m right.”

“You can both be right,” Clarke says, holding out her arms when the baby starts fussing, pulling both of her girls in with a tender expression that makes Bellamy’s heart clench in the best way.

“Have you picked a name yet?” Abby asks from the armchair nearby.

“Bellamy?”

Abby’s face goes white. “You don’t really intend to–”

“What do you think about Eve?” He asks Clarke, exchanging a look of amusement at Abby’s audible relief.

“Eve Griffin-Blake,” Clarke muses, tracing her features with gentle fingers. “Evie. I like it. What do you think, Madi?”

“Way better than some of the other stuff you’ve come up with.”

"That sounds like a consensus to me.”

“Me too,” says Clarke, looking down at their daughters. Their _family_. “Welcome to the world, Evie. We’ll try to make it a good one for you.”

Madi makes a face. “Is this what happens when there’s a baby around? You guys get all gross and mushy?”

“Pretty much,” Bellamy laughs, tucking her into his side. “Get used to it, kid.”

Even though they had to spend Christmas in the hospital, it’s easily Bellamy’s best Christmas to date, though he doesn’t think they’ve peaked just yet.

This is just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, parts of this are inspired by true events. My mom’s due date to have me was Christmas and if I was born then she was going to let my dad name me Holly Noelle. Luckily I was born on New Year’s instead ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
